


we are all together

by tikk



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Bodyswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-10-29 12:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20796299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikk/pseuds/tikk
Summary: John and Paul take something they've never taken before and wake up the next day to find they've swapped bodies.  Looking different is one thing, but it's harder getting used to all the different feelings as they explore how their new bodies react to certain things... and to each other in particular.John leans over Paul to pick up his guitar, and he breathes in the scent of his own body, shampoo and skin and sweat.  John suddenly intensely aware of how much Paul's body likes that, breathing deeply, taking longer than he needs to.  And from then on he's brushing past himself when he doesn't need to, standing close, breathing him in so casually.  And the realisation comes that everything he's doing, is stuff Paul does to him all the time.  He’s dizzy, knowing why.





	we are all together

They've taken acid a couple of times now. They've taken a couple of other things a couple of times too. This night they take something some guy gave John, promising a trip to change your world.

They wait for the high and it doesn't come. They take more. They finish the packet. They wait all night and it never comes and it doesn't do anything, and so eventually Paul takes himself off to bed. 

When he wakes up he’s half blind, and he panics, and he goes to find John. John gives him glasses, and he holds them for a while, confused. But then he puts them on and he can see, and he can see that John is him, and he is John. 

For a while they assume they’re high and it just took a long time. They laugh and marvel at it. Paul spends an hour simply staring at John’s hands waiting for them to turn back into his own hands. But they don't. And when Paul goes outside for fresh air, it’s John’s name the fans are all screaming at him through the gate, and that's when it hits him that this might be something that’s actually happening, and he goes back inside, heart pounding, and they look at each other and they try not to freak out. 

John plays it easy to start with. He messes up Paul’s hair and describes his elaborate plans for all the things he could do as Paul McCartney to ruin his reputation, things he'll say to Jane, things he'll say to Jim. He wants to make Paul laugh despite the growing panic, and he succeeds easily. They try to work out who they should tell, and who might help, and whether they know any shamans or psychics or whatever, and they spend a while getting righteously furious because they know people who have taken the same stuff, and more stuff, and much heavier stuff than they took and this didn’t happen and so why is it happening to them? 

But through it all, what is really happening is they’re panicking about the weird things they are feeling inside, things they can't make sense of. 

Because when John looks at himself, at his own face on the other side of the room his palms ache, and he’s heavy inside, in a way he can’t quite work out. But he does know it feels good. It feels really good; he can barely take his eyes off himself. And he thinks feeling good that way when you look at yourself might be a bit fucked up. 

And Paul’s got the same thing, a burning inside that he can’t really catch hold of, but it’s there whenever he looks at himself, and it’s brighter when he sees himself smile, and he wants more and more of it, and what the hell is that about? 

They try not to stare. Neither of them mention it.

When he gets hungry John makes a fry up, but then he stares in confusion at the pan. He’s made black pudding and eggs and now he feels sick at the very idea of putting it in his mouth, in Paul’s mouth. Paul smells it and he knows it’s fucking pig’s blood, and he knows he’s hated it since he was a kid, but oh god he can’t eat it fast enough, it’s burnt and crumbling and he wants more. John settles for a fried egg sandwich instead. And they eat together, not looking at each other. And with each bite comes this slow realisation that they’re in a different body, and they’re experiencing that body's reaction to things, finding out what that body wants. And then they're thinking about whether how they feel when they look at themselves isn’t quite so fucked up... because it might just be the way this body reacts to their own. 

Over a few days: John in Paul’s body gently exploring all the things Paul’s body feels when it’s near his own, aware of this heavy weight right in his middle. He’s never felt anything like it, and he doesn't know what you'd call it, but it's there all the time. It's a part of him, of Paul. And that’s the part of Paul that is connected to... to John, to him. It takes him a while to realise it, but when he looks at himself, whenever he’s near, it's warmer, filling him. And he can feel it all the time, like a magnet, drawn towards his own body, whether he's in the room or not. It’s heavy and... calm. It’s grounding. It's fixed in place and John’s pretty sure he couldn’t move it if he tried. And he doesn't want to try.

At the same time, Paul in John’s body feels restless in a way he never has, and tense for no reason, new brain chemicals, a new nervous system. But he notices straight away that it's all a little easier when he's near John, or near John in Paul's body rather. Just the sight of himself puts things in a little bit of order so he can breathe more easily, think more clearly. But it also brings a bright burning in his chest, or his throat, or... somewhere. It’s a strange feeling, it doesn't stay still long enough to work it out, it flickers and flashes, and he can't catch hold of it. But Paul knows it's connected to him, he feels it expand when John looks at him with Paul's eyes, when he brushes past, he feels a pulse of warmth through John's body every time. And he loves it. He had no idea. But there's something uneasy about it too. Because when John goes away to have a shower, or to go to bed, it goes with him, it shrinks right down until it's barely there, and it's his centre, and it almost disappears, and Paul thinks one day it might blow out altogether. Paul wants to take it and hide it somewhere deep inside himself, keep it safe, and tie it down. 

They’re not talking about any of that. So it’s fine.

They bury themselves in music. Both of them revel in hearing music through different ears, they're almost high with it. Hearing themselves singing. John in Paul’s head hearing how John’s own voice sounds to Paul, and how it makes Paul’s body react. He’s never liked his voice much before but it sounds good now, and Paul fucking digs it, he can feel it right through him. Paul in John’s ears feeling the same thing, feeling John’s bones literally vibrating when Paul’s voice hits a certain note, feeling his pulse jump. Paul grinning and John grinning back, connected in this the same way they always have been, differences slipping away when music's involved, nothing they ever hid from each other here. 

They take a while getting used to playing with a different dominant hand, clumsy at first, like they're young again, new again. And that feels good, it all feels good. Hours and hours, playing together, singing together, winding it higher. Paul pushing out those torn up vocals, feeling how easily you can get that with John’s voice. John watches his intense pleasure of getting to play with this whole new instrument, John always loves watching that, and this time it’s even better, because it’s him, and damn if he wasn’t sometimes jealous of Paul’s guitar, you know? And now it’s him that Paul is delighted by, caught up by, and John just watches him loving it, loving how good it sounds, both laughing with the joy of it. 

They call up the prick that sold John the stuff in the first place, and ask for more, figuring if they take it again they'll swap back, the perfect logic of panic and fear. He brings it round and all Paul has to do is answer the door and pay for it, but he knows it's wrong, he smiles too much, he feels ridiculous, his voice - John's voice - sounds stupid, like he's putting it on. In the end he shuts the door without saying goodbye, and John laughs at him, and takes the drugs off him. They take the whole packet, and they don't get high, and they go to bed and in the morning they're still not themselves.

They sink into music for days, hiding from anything deeper than that, avoiding talking about anything, avoiding everyone they know, because they can't face being each other in public and they can’t tell anyone, and they just want to be together getting used to whatever the fuck this is.

But in amongst all the music they’re still trying to sift through feelings, working out how much is them and how much is the body they’re in. John leans over Paul to pick up his guitar, and he breathes in the scent of his own body, shampoo and skin and sweat, John suddenly intensely aware of how much Paul's body likes that, breathing deeply, taking longer than he needs to. And from then on he's brushing past himself when he doesn't need to, standing close, breathing him in so casually. And the realisation that everything he's doing, is stuff Paul does to him all the time. He’s dizzy suddenly knowing why. And the look Paul gives him, John’s face, but Paul’s expression, saying he knows what John’s working out, begging him not to say anything, and John adds it to the list of things they're not talking about.

He turns back to the piano, and Paul breathes easier. He watches him, working on something that already sounds fucking good to Paul, here inside John’s head it’s beautiful, but over in Paul’s body, John is going over it and over it, more than Paul’s ever seen him do before. And he knows why, god knows he's all too familiar with that feeling, the sudden biting frustration when it’s good but it’s not quite how he can hear it inside, not quite how it’s meant to be. Right now Paul couldn’t care less if it’s not perfect, it’s already beautiful, and he watches John playing, Paul's fingers on the piano keys, and it feels like small fireworks in his chest and he’s not thinking about that, about the hours and hours he’s played piano in front of John, John watching him closely... but he is thinking that he wants John to leave the fucking piano alone, come and sing with him again, come and play, give him his centre back.

By the fifth night John’s sick of going to bed alone, neither of them like it, being alone in the wrong body is harder, like they need to be near the other part of themselves maybe. Something like that. He goes to where Paul’s sleeping in the guest room, and Paul smiles and pulls back the cover for him. Like he’s been waiting.

It's cold, and they're glad it's cold because it's the easiest excuse going, and they squeeze up close. Both half laugh, both knew it was going to feel good, no secret about that any more. They're not talking about it, but they've never needed to talk. Paul pulls John closer, feels his own breath on John's throat, and he feels John's whole body relaxing into rhythm with it. John can hear his own heartbeat, and he can feel Paul's body tuning into it, warm and calm. And Paul feels the flame inside John become steadier and stronger, more settled. John feels the heaviness in Paul's middle soften slowly, every touch opening it out little by little, until it spreads through his whole body, tuned towards John's touch.

They stay there for a while, breathing each other in, quiet and warm. Then Paul takes a deep breath into John's lungs. And he takes hold of his own hand, linking their fingers and gently stroking a thumb over his own palm. It's a small touch really, but there's a reason Paul knows exactly how many times John has ever held his hand. Four times. Only ever like this, late at night, in bed, when they're close, and only ever for a second in the dark. There's a reason Paul remembers every one of those seconds and he doesn't over think it, he wants to do it, wants John to know it, so he does it. A gift. And he doesn't know if it's stupid or brave. 

John knows how many times he's held Paul's hand ever. Four times he's been desperate enough. Because there are no excuses for holding hands, it's not to keep warm, it's not by mistake, it's just soft and they both know it. And every time he did it Paul lay absolutely fucking still, didn't respond, didn't even breathe, until John let go again. Never pushed him away, never told him no, never laughed at him, just let him do it for a few seconds, a minute even, and then treated him just the same afterwards, let him pretend it had never happened. 

When Paul takes his hand now, John feels Paul's body freeze. Stock still. He couldn't move if he wanted to, a pin stabbing through his heart keeps him in place, and sends his heart rate crazy, his blood racing. Every molecule of his being is concentrated on that touch, his palms burn, his chest aches, he can't breathe, can't blink. He stays that way, completely achingly still, hoping it will last forever. But Paul pulls his hand away again.

John catches his own wrist, and he catches a breath, and then he stares hard into his own eyes, looking for Paul, finding him and taking answers that would take too long in words. The way Paul's body felt when John took his hand is one thing, one massive overwhelming thing, but his eyes share the fact that Paul gave it to him openly, knowing what he was doing, and that takes all John's senses away and he's kissing him, doesn't know what anything is or what anything means but he's kissing him, kissing him, kissing him. And then they're lost. 

And maybe it should feel strange to be kissing yourself, but they’re not really themselves at this point, they both know it, they’re mixed up, joined up, a part of each other, and all they can feel is that it’s right and that they want it and that it feels good. It feels fucking essential. They moan, their hands everywhere, wanting and taking. Their clothes are pulled free and thrown away. They’re half terrified, and they're half hysterical, laughing because of how good it is, and how stupid. Laughing because they’re turned on, properly turned on in ways they didn't know existed, and in a different body it feels so fucking weird. They don’t know what they’re doing, they're clumsy, and it's brilliant and easy and terrifying, trying to work out what they want, working out which one of them wants what is impossible. They want everything. 

Paul rolls them so he's lying over John, looks down at his own face, his mouth swollen, eyes wide, and he feels lust pouring through John's body so strong he thinks he might faint, kisses himself hard. Feels other things underneath the lust, things that take longer to name... he teases them out, one at a time. Care, fear, possessiveness, pride, comfort, protection, need. Love right in the middle of it all, shining through it all, burning in his chest till he thinks he's going to explode. He nearly says it, and then bites it back, moans instead, what the fuck would it even mean saying it now? I love you? You love me? He half laughs and presses down harder, feeling joy in every touch.

For John it's the same, and it's different. He can't name everything he's feeling - everything Paul's feeling. He doesn't need to. He takes the aching in Paul's chest when he makes John moan, the way his toes hurt when John kisses him, the way Paul's body is pressing forward into every touch, the way Paul breathes him in, the way he moves with him, against him, the way his skin burns and his mouth aches... and all of it adds up together, an overwhelming feeling of belonging. This body belongs to that one. That one belongs to this one. They belong together. And John's beside himself with it, alive with it, like he's in a cloud, surrounded by love and light and care and want, and this is where they belong, light wrapping around the two of them, drawing them closer, he smiles and Paul smiles back at him, and Paul's body glows, responding to John, _belonging_ to John, and John kisses himself, hoping Paul will feel it too, that he gets it too.

John's whole body is aching. Paul kisses himself back, hard, too hard, but he can't help it, every part of him that is John wants Paul, and every part of him that is still himself wants John, he looks into his own eyes until he finds him. He smiles and John smiles back, and then they're kissing again, and John's blood is on fire, and Paul thinks he might melt away any second, melt into John, into himself, and he feels himself right where he belongs, right in place, and then he can't hold it any longer, and he presses down, grinding their hips together and they both let out noises, helpless aching noises. Neither of them have enough control over the other's body, not for this, the last few days haven't prepared them for this, and they thrust helplessly against each other and they barely last ten seconds.

They're both surprised, years since they came so hard so fast, and they're shaking.

They're moaning, panting helplessly as they fall apart into each other. 

And for a while neither of them is sure where they are, or who they are. 

And for a while it just doesn't even matter. 

They press into each other, wrap tight around each other, and they're one.


End file.
